This is the Last Time I'll Forget You
by CyanideDreams610
Summary: JxL Taking a look into Jackson and Lisa's "relationship". Jackson leaves with the promise of "I'll be right back" and ends up disappearing for three years. When he shows up again, what will happen? In fact, what did happen? NOW COMPLETE
1. I Must Confess

This is part of my "50 Lyrics" series. It also happens to be a continuation of sorts to chapter seven of "Dialog of 100 Words" (although you don't have to read either series to understand this story).

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**I must confess, that my loneliness is killing me now; **  
**Don't you know I still believe, that you will be here.**

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Lisa Reisert doesn't cry for him that much anymore.

The first few months she was fine – a few scattered, lonely tears here and there late at night, but that was about it. _He's busy doing…whatever he has to do_, she would tell herself, _and a man like him can take care of himself. He'll be back soon; just got to be patient. These things take time._ After all, it took him eight weeks to get to her, and she wasn't even anything praiseworthy; just a simple manager with a simple life. _Meticulous that he is, he's going to need plenty of time._ She's OK, she misses him, but she's OK.

*~*~*

During the first year, she became a mess. Her eyes were always swollen and bloodshot. A grimace seemed to be permanently glued to her face when she wasn't people-pleasing. And even then, her smile wasn't what it used to be. Her hair was limp and dry, losing all vitality. And her skin – always a few shades too pale. She'd be crying every night, stuffing her head into her pillow; silencing the broken weeping of a devastated woman. She would stare off into space a lot, most likely in the direction of a door. Tears would often streak down her face quietly during those times. It even happened while she was working, although it was mostly during off-peak hours when her mind was allowed to wander. Her coworkers worry about her, asking if she was alright. She'd paste on her most sparkling smile and reply every time, "Yes, of course I'm fine," even as the tears would continue to fall without her knowing.

"But, you're crying," they would say in return.

She'd laugh, "Oh, I just blanked out, and my eyes got too dry."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Just peachy!"

*~*~*

Around the beginning of the second year, she was about fifteen pounds lighter. She controlled herself better at work. Her grimace turned into a soft frown, and her smile continued to drop in its luster. Her eyes were often glassy and unfocused; they were always puffy. She stopped staring at doors and opted to stare at the table when her attention isn't focused on some bitching client.

Her heart gave a hopeful jump every time she heard a door open and close, any door at all – from work, from a café, neighbor's door; whatever. She used to think she heard him come back, or that he was shuffling about the apartment. But, it was never him; no one was ever there. She still cried herself to sleep – sobs choking the life out of her until she would finally pass out. She continued to clutch to her pillow like a lifeline. It's the pillow he used to sleep on. _Used to._ When did he become a past tense?

*~*~*

Towards the end of the second year she got angry. It sure as hell felt less distressing than the despair she was in. He never said a word to her after he left. He never even left her any contact information. He told her he needed to do this _thing;_ that he would be done in two shakes. He told her that he would be right back. He gave her one of his cocky smiles, thoroughly kissed her, and said, "I'll see you again really soon," then he was gone. _Then_ _he stayed gone._ If he was dead, the decent thing to do was to have someone let her know about it. If he wasn't dead, he might as well be dead to her now. Yet still…she occasionally finds wetness over her cheeks and she finds herself straining her ears to hear him come home, even as she tells herself she no longer cares.

*~*~*

By the third year, she gave up on him. She stopped jumping every time a door opens and close. She stopped bothering to look up when it happens. She's not even angry anymore and she no longer frowned either. When she doesn't have to put on her Barbie-doll-smile for her work, she has a blank look on her face. She lost another five pounds by now. She doesn't cry for him that much anymore.

*~*~*

One night she found herself impassively watching the news on TV. She wasn't really paying attention; it was just something to do – a bit of sound to fill the otherwise empty apartment. Suddenly she heard a low keening wail. It was a sound akin to an injured animal, left on the side of the road; hurt and unable to move – most likely dying. It was a sound that could break the heart of anyone passing by. _Did a dog get run over? Poor thing. _The sound continued to grow in volume until she realized it was coming from _her_, emitting deep from her throat. She gasped and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. She bit into the fleshy part of her palm and squeezed her eyes shut. _I refuse._ She bites down until a thin trickle of blood runs down her wrist. _I damn well refuse._

No, she doesn't cry for him that much anymore, but she still does now and then.

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**_Stay tuned for chapter two!!!_**

Please review!


	2. This is the Last Time I'll Abandon You

Sorry for the long wait! Classes and all that took up most of my time. The next chapter should be updated sooner.

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This is the last time I'll abandon you and this is the last time I'll forget you;  
I wish I could.

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Lisa sighs as she slides down further in the bath. It's not that she feels very relaxed in there, but it has been quite the long day at work and a hot bath helps with her sore legs. Her eyes looked bruised from the dark circles under them, and the skin is stretched taut over her ribs. She looks like she needs a good meal…if she can stomach it. Her appetite is extremely lacking these past few years. Her father has been begging her to go see a therapist of some kind; it's quite obvious that the funk she's in is much deeper than that time of the month. Depression at its best and Mr. Denial accompanying it. She'll be OK; just a little more time and she should be back to her dandy self (or as dandy as she used to be), so screw the therapy; _fuck you, Dr. Phil._

She's getting along much better during that last four months, after she decided that Jackson Rippner is most likely a rotting corpse in some shallow grave; which means she'll get on with her life. And if he isn't a corpse, well, then he's no longer worth thinking about anymore. Was it only three years ago that he oh-so-arrogantly told her that he will be back before she knew it? Seems longer...seems more like a decade to her...she looks a decade older, that's for sure. She'll have to buy some miracle cream for her face in the next week or two, maybe choke down a full meal for once too; lest her dad finally snaps and drag her to some psychiatrist.

Lisa remains sitting in the tub until the water turns barely warm; then she grabs a towel from the rack above and slightly to the left of her. She stands and steps out of the tub, drying herself out before she drained the bath water. She puts on a pair of maroon sweatpants and a light blue tank top; then she walks to her kitchen. She has a day off tomorrow and lunch date with her father. He'll most likely make a comment about how thin she is and nag incessantly about seeing a doctor again. She wonders if she can stuff herself twenty pounds of food in one night to look less twig-like by tomorrow. It's doubtful.

She stands there in the middle of her kitchen, looking slightly frustrated and wracking her brain on what she can make to eat. She wasn't the least bit hungry; eating was just something she did to keep her alive, not something to be enjoyed anymore. It's hard to stomach anything when you can't enjoy it.

She makes a "tsk" sound and starts going through her freezer. _Alright, lasagna from an icy tray is as good as anything._ She yanks it out of the fridge and stuffs it into the microwave, setting it according to the instructions she can practically recite. She rinses a fork over the sink and grabs an oven mitt just as the microwave starts to beep, hurrying her to take the damn thing out already. She carefully peals back the plastic covering and chucks it into the trash before she slides on the oven mitt and yank the tray out of the microwave. She brings the tray to the living room and sets it on the coffee table, on top of a magazine lest the super hot dish warps the wood. She plops down heavily on her couch and lets out a soft "oof" before she starts to randomly stab her fork into the lasagna. She manages to take a few tasteless bites before someone knocks on her door. Now who the hell would possibly bug her?

She leaves the fork in the tray as she sighed and got off the couch, padding her way to the source of her current annoyance. She reaches for the door knob with indifference and opens her door. The sight before her makes her freeze like a deer in the headlights. "Jackson…" she whispers in complete and utter disbelief.

He smiles ever so slightly, "Hi, Leese."

He looks different from the last time she saw him. His hair is much longer; slightly past his shoulders. His eyes are sunken and rival hers in dark circles. He lost a bit of weight too – forget about Jack the Ripper; talk about Jack Skellington – not that he wasn't absurdly thin to begin with. _He looks a bit older too._ There were barely-there lines around the corner of his eyes, a crease between his eyebrows, and tiny, but long, furrows around the corners of his mouth. His sense of style remains unchanged though; still donning one hell of a suit, impeccable panache as always. "Can I come in?" he asked; his face showing small expectancy.

Lisa didn't reply him. She continues to stare at him wide eyed as she, almost robotically, steps away from the door; allowing him enough room to walk in. He steps through the threshold with his head tilted down somewhat. She closes the door behind him and turns around to face him. He quickly takes in his surroundings; nothing much has changed in the apartment except for some small items he left behind that seemed to have disappeared. He idly wonders if the few articles of clothing he didn't take with him are still here.

Lisa bites her lip as she crosses her arms. She stares at him a moment longer before she softly speaks, "It's been three years, Jackson."

He turns to her; his eyebrows scrunching together in a quick twitch before he replies, "Yea."

"Three years that I haven't seen or heard from you. Three years, you've never called or wrote to me. Three years, not a single word from you. Three. Years." Each word rolling out of her mouth grew in volume and conviction. Each word feeling like a cold blade striking him somewhere on his body; _how ironic_. Each word hitting home.

He swallowed thickly and clenched his jaws once, "I know."

Lisa gives him a skeptical look and snorts sarcastically, "So? What now? Did you think I'd fall into your arms in an overjoyed and teary mess?"

"No," he softly responds.

"Did you think that you can just show up after so long of me thinking if you've finally been caught? If you died slowly in some basement where maybe there wasn't enough left of you to identify? After all the nights I spent awake, crying; thinking about all the what-if's and maybe's?" her initial shock dissipates as her face starts to crumble in both anger and anguish.

He shook his head slowly, "No."

"Did you think you can just come back? Just like that?" her voice breaks and loses volume as she uncrosses her arms.

He whispers, "No."

"_Then what?!_" she shrieks; her voice shrill and piercing. Her hands are fisted at her side, arms tense, and she leans forward; screaming at him, "_What, Jackson?!_"

Jackson presses his lips together tightly before he struggles, "I…" he splays his hands out to his side, "I don't know."

Lisa's face fell and she huffs quietly as she closes her eyes. Her shoulders slump, she un-balls her fist and a few drops of tears roll slowly down her cheeks. _Should have slammed the door in his face. This isn't fair._ She gave him up already. She started to move on. She started to have some semblance of life again. _Now what?_ She tries to swallow the lump in her throat and took a few steadying breaths before she opened her eyes again…to find him way too close to her.

Jackson brings his hand up to brush away her tears; she flinches away from him before he could touch her. His hand hovers over her face for a few seconds before he lets his arm drop to his side. "I didn't mean to stay away for so long."

She glares at him, "I find it hard to care for what you _meant_ to do, Jack, it's what you've done that…_concerns_ me." She hesitated for a split second when she said "concern." See, the word "upset" would have been the understatement of the century. "Pissed off" isn't enough to denote how enraged she became after the first year or so. "Confused" wouldn't even explain the chaos that was storming in her psyche through the whole ordeal. Best go with choice D. all of the above.

Jackson twitches from the old, and unappreciated, nickname, "I'm sorry."

Lisa blinks, "You're sorry," she repeats incredulously, "You're _sorry?_"

He clenches his jaws together, the rest of his face remaining painstakingly neutral. "Tell me, _Jack_," Lisa continues with a sneer, "what the hell are _you_ sorry for?"

Jackson opens his mouth to answer but Lisa brushes pass him before he got a chance. She keeps her back to him and presses her hand to her forehead; then she runs it through her hair. "Are you sorry that you dropped off the face of the earth for _three fucking years?_" she twists to snarl at him, "Are you sorry that you've never even bothered to pick up the phone? Or even a pen for that matter?"

Jackson turns away from her. She continues, "Are you sorry that you've never bothered to leave behind a way of contacting you? Are you sorry that I spent years thinking you're either dead, dying, or just plain decided to ditch me? Are you sorry that I still find myself crying in my sleep for you, even after all these years? Are you sorry that you're a _liar?_"

Jackson veers towards her and said, a little louder than he meant to, "I've _never_ lied!"

Lisa jumps faintly from his sudden outburst. He repeats, a little more calmly, "I didn't lie."

She gives him a cynical look, "_'I'll be right back?'_ Are you _kidding_ me?"

Jackson discreetly cleared his throat uncomfortably before replying, "I really meant it when I said I'd be right back. I didn't think it would have taken so long to do the job. I really thought I'd see you _much_ sooner."

"You could have contacted me once in a while to let me know you weren't _dead_!" She starts to walk away from him.

"You don't understand," he follows her, "I was in _deep_, Leese; I couldn't take the chance. If a letter was intercepted or a call was traced...even looking through phone records could pose a _very_ real danger to you."

Lisa stops and looks down to her feet, her back still towards him. He stands a few feet from her. She should kick him out of the apartment. He's been gone for a long time; too many things have changed. _Or maybe nothing's changed at all?_ No, things did change. She was overcome with grief for...too long. He's back now, so what? Is he going to stay for good? Could she deal with the same pain all over again if he isn't? And what does it matter if he does stay? Could she even forgive him? _I...don't know._

"Why are you here?" she asks him, almost inaudibly.

"...I don't know," he responds just as quietly, "I thought it would've been best to let you think I was dead. It's been...too long. You've most likely moved on, and I'd...I'd have come back to ruin your life...again. I don't know why I'm here; there isn't a good reason...only that...I had to see you."

Lisa sighs; she turns towards him and smirks sardonically. Ironic how that smirk looks so much like his. "Well, you've seen me. Now what? You like what you see?" She spread her arms out slightly and let them fall to her side, making a small slapping sound against her thighs.

Jackson's eyes soften and it sparks with an emotion that he has since chained up, neat and tidy, after he left her. "I love what I see."

The smirk fades from her face and she only looks at him sadly. "What do you want?" she whispers.

"...A chance," he quietly answers as he took a step closer to her.

Lisa looks away from him.

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Please review!

**_STAY TUNED FOR CHAPTER 3!!!_**


	3. Cause I Can Almost Breathe The Air

Sorry for such the long delay! Classes got the better of me :P That does take prioriety ya know lol. And here, we get to see Jackson's point of view on all this.

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**'Cause I can almost breathe the air, right around my fingertips;  
I'll turn around and pick up the pieces.**

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Jackson Rippner is an asshole. Yes, he's fully aware of that fact; 99% of the time, he revels in that fact. After all, it takes a special kind of asshole to _correctly_ manipulate, threaten, and beat to his heart's desire to get the control he needs. The only time he curbs such behavior is when he's speaking to his girl, _his_ _Leese_. He has learned the hard way that treating her like he treats everyone else would just get him beaten to a bloody smear. It's not that he couldn't retaliate, it's just...alright, so he became slightly whipped since he's been with her. But only _slightly_ and _only_ towards her. He could still be quite a dick to her; just not a _total_ dick.

Oh yes, and what a dick he was to leave her.

He didn't mean to leave her like that; he had every intention of keeping her – well, _happy_ wouldn't be the right word, he planned to test her patience very frequently – content. Yea, he had every intention of keeping her fully content. It was supposed to be a quick job; easy peasy. He was supposed to be done in less than a month and be back in her bed before either of them would find themselves missing the other. Yea _right_, and the world is full of pretty rainbows with a pot of gold at each end, flying unicorns, prancing fairies, and nobody died ever.

It's safe to say things didn't go according to plan.

Shit happened and plots backfired. People who weren't supposed to die, died, while those who were supposed to die, lived. The next thing he knew, he was trying to survive in a hellish situation: his team was gone, his support pulled out, he had no back-up, his inside man got himself killed, and he was alone with the orders of "complete your mission, or be gunned down by your own company." Holy-fucking-shit, he was in deep. Dead if he stayed, dead if he left. If he's dead either way, he'll go down swinging. Nobody fucks him over without due consequences. _Nobody except for her perhaps, _but, then again, she got her due consequence: a lifetime with _him_.

So. Three years. It took him three years to free himself. Three years of running. Three years of scheming. Three years of killing. Three years of blood. Three. Fucking. Years. It took him three years to complete his two missions. One was the original mission his company put him on (because they were already chasing him). The other was his own personal agenda – hunting down and killing off every member of the company that oh-so-burned him.

Vengeful? _Fuck yea._

During those years, he was set on only one thing – his job. He had to push Lisa Reisert way into the back of his mind; she'd only distract him. The only time he allowed himself the solace of his memory of her was when he slept. He used to think that he was back in her bed, holding her sleeping form to his chest. He could almost hear her breathing softly into his ear. Then he would wake up and he's back in his own personal war and he would have to snuff her image out of his mind once again.

Well, he's done. He's finished. He can retire now, so to speak. _Retire to fucking where?_ He has nowhere to go anymore. His company used to be his life and now the whole thing's eradicated. Oh, he has been getting many offers from other "companies," but, you see, he doesn't want to be the little Doberman anymore. He might be the alpha in his team, but he's still just another dog to the company. _Loyalty ain't worth shit these days, huh? Can't trust anyone to have your back._ He'll stick with the retirement. He deserves it more than anyone, if he does say so himself. He has one hell of a savings account, enough to last him at least two lifetimes if he's smart about it.

Maybe he can go back to his Leese. Or maybe not. Three years…that's a long fucking time. She's most likely beyond pissed if she hasn't already forgotten about him. He doesn't know if he wants her to have moved on, of if he wants her to still be waiting for him. If she didn't move on, well, even _he_ would feel guilty for putting her through that. If she did move on…then he'll leave her alone. But…he _must_ see her. One last time. If she never wants him in her presence again, that's fine. _I suppose I deserve as much._ But he has to find her, see how she is. Maybe she'll let him stay. Maybe she won't. He's been to hell and back. He's not going to let something as little as fear-of-rejection stop him from finding out.

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**_STAY TUNED FOR CHAPTER FOUR!!!_**

Please review!


	4. I'm Running Down Highways

And here is the last chapter! A little early Christmas gift for you guys. For those of you who have finals now (like me), or still have a ton of Christmas shopping left to do because of procrastination (again, like me lol) hope this will give you a nice little break from all that chaos and thanks for the hits/reviews.

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**I'm running down highways 'til I see your face;  
I just need to see you now, I don't care about anything else.**

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Jackson is standing in front of Lisa's door. He has been standing there for the past twenty minutes. Before that, he was sitting in his car, across the street from her apartment window, for about an hour and a half. And now he is just standing there by her door, pondering over the speech he already planned out in the car. He thought the whole thing through. He wasn't going to apologize, naturally. His pride would prevent such a thing (and it just so happens that his pride remains fully intact after his three-year ordeal). He wouldn't get into the grisly details of what he went through, and he would absolutely not beg for her forgiveness. He would tell her his _past_ job became a clusterfuck of a disaster, but he handled it. He's done and he's back. After that, it will depend on her to either welcome him or chuck him out of the window (she lives in the fifth floor, by the way). He's not going to ask for anything; _don't think I have the right to_.

Jackson gnaws on his bottom lip and continues to stare at her door number. _Ah, fuck it._ He knocks three times.

The door suddenly gets pulled opened and he attempts a smile. Key word: attempt. As his lips were curving upwards, he caught sight of her and his breathing hitched. Oh, it's hitting him like a ton of bricks right about now; like he got tackled by a 300 pound football player and then a tank proceeded to roll over him. He missed her. He missed her very much. It didn't occur to him just how much he missed her until now. Seeing her again – her green eyes that he swore held the whole forest in them, her auburn hair like living flames – it made his heart pound and his chest ache. Forget about that speech he had prepared, after seeing her, that went straight out the window (that he might soon be tossed out of as well). Of course, despite this internal turmoil, his face remains mostly impassive with a half smile that he wasn't able to complete.

He chokes out a strangled, "Hi, Leese," as she stares at him like he grew another head.

And she continues to stare at him, unmoving, with her mouth hanging open. _Will you at least blink? _Jackson stood there awkwardly, shuffling his feet a little. "Can I come in?" he finally asks when all she did was gawk at him for the past thirty seconds. She starts and moves away from the door; he steps through a little sheepishly.

He takes a quick look-over her apartment. His spare reading glasses, the one he left on the coffee table, are gone; along with a few books he had. The remote control and tray of TV dinner, partially eaten, are the only things sitting on that table. His more casual shoes that were neatly placed by the door are no longer there. The jacket he left on the arm of the couch is missing. The coffee mug he has dubbed "his" isn't where it used to be in the kitchen, if it's in there at all. _Dammit, now isn't the time to be snooping. Say something._

She, however, beat him to it, "It's been three years, Jackson." She said that so low that he almost missed it.

He turns towards her with his lips slightly parted. She looks tired (and miffed). Lack of something better to say, he, quite dumbly, replies, "Yea."

After that, it became an emotional roller coaster going straight down at a ninety degree angle. Yes, Jackson Rippner has emotions. He's just very good at squelching them, although he's currently having problems with that. Every word coming out of her mouth is causing him to fucking _feel_. And it's definitely not one of those nice feelings. He knew this was going to happen. Not only would she not understand, she would have never even thought about it – how hard it was to make it back at all, let alone make it back in one piece. He will admit it, she had it bad too, but as bad as him? Not nearly…not ever.

She's crying, she's screaming, she's upset and he's contrite; he even said he was sorry – _so much for not apologizing._ He reaches out to touch her and she moves away. That stung, but was expected. She just keeps on tossing accusations at him; all of them biting. The fact that they are all true makes it even worse. He can feel his own anger rising alongside her own. _You're supposed to be smart, Leese, __**think.**_

Jackson clenches his jaws together as she continues her tirade, although the rest of his face is frozen in place and mask-like. _Damn your female-driven, emotion-based __**crap.**_ At this moment in time, he couldn't stand to look at her without everything falling to pieces, so he turns away. He would end up snapping at her, telling her way too much information. He would get angry; he might lash out. He would end up showing her that, although he's fully intact physically, he's not quite all that well in his mind. The PTSD should be hitting home soon enough, he just wants to bury it for as long as he could until then. He's also trying to avoid the looks of pity she would surely give him when he eventually breaks in half. She's going to give him sickening looks of pity, yea; he knows she will, but not tonight. He doesn't want her to know just yet, and he doesn't want those kinds of eyes on him. Not. Tonight. And hopefully not ever, but he's not really one for hopes.

It's not until Lisa accuses him of being a liar that he finally cracks along the edges. He practically snarls, "_I've never lied!_" and the anger he was hiding so well flashed in his eyes.

She jumps and gasps slightly in shock. _Shit._ He presses his lips together firmly and takes a deep breath through his nose. "I didn't lie," he breathes.

And, of course, she doesn't believe him; which doesn't surprise him. Furthering arguing leads to a freaking stand-still where neither of them could find another word to say to the other. Finally, she breaks the silence in a whisper so soft, he has to strain his ears to hear it, "What do you want?"

_You._ "…A chance…" he answers, a little less softly than she, while stepping closer to her.

And now the moment of truth. She stands there in front of him, not looking at him, a battle warring behind her eyes. _She needs to think about it; wonder if that is good or bad?_ Seconds tick away like hours. Their breathing sound very loud in the otherwise silent room; somewhere in the neighborhood police sirens came and went. Lisa chews on her lower lip and clenches her eyes shut.

"One chance," she whispers.

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**_COMPLETE_**

Please review!

Whether or not I write a sequel/prequel to this depends on (1) how many people want one and/or (2) how lazy I am lol.


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